Letters and Questions
by Elisabeth Harker
Summary: Aunt March takes her most unruly niece to Europe with her in the hopes of making her into a proper lady once and for all. Laurie follows with a question. Beth hopes that the answer will be yes.  An expanded version of a fic I wrote for Yuletide.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: I wrote this story as a yuletide fic under rather strict time constraints. I liked how it came out, but I'd like to improve it, so this is going to be the expanded version. In addition to adding at least two chapters, I'll be fleshing out some of the later chapters. If you read please let me know what you think!

_-.*.-_

_Dear Teddy,_

_Day 27 of life on the high seas! No land in sight, but I'm told we'll be docking in Ireland soon. Right now the ocean seems as if it will never end, and I'd be just fine with that. Well, almost. The sea is glorious like you wouldn't believe and the boat is good fun, but I know I've great things to look forward to. _

_I expect the girls will read you the letter that I've sent the rest of the family, but you can't imagine that I'd leave off without writing personally to my boy. Besides, there are some things you'd probably find more amusing than the rest of them would. _

_For one, there's the reason why I'm here in the first place. I'd always known that Aunt March meant to go to Europe one of these days, and taken for granted that I'd get to come along with her, even with Amy being her companion these days. I'm older, after all, and sometimes when I want something so very badly I fail to see the obvious hurdles that lay in my path. As it turns out I was very nearly left behind, and Amy taken in my stead. I'm ashamed to admit that if not for a slip of my abominable tongue I'd be back at home knitting and getting into scrapes with you. _

_You see, the last time Amy and I went calling upon Aunt March I behaved (at least from how she tells it) in such a harum-scarum way that the poor woman was horrified. I don't remember what I'd said that was so terrible. True, I'd told her what a dunce I am at French - that was the truth and remains so today, but I'd like to hope it's not so horrible a character flaw. Anyway, though Aunt Carole protested against the arrangement, Aunt March felt it was her duty to make a lady of me once and for all, and thought Europe would be the perfect finishing school. _

_We'll see about that. So far the sea hasn't been. The rest of my party have been seasick since the journey started. I do what I can to look after them, but they spend a great deal of time resting in the cabin, and I get the run of the ship. The sailors are nice fellows for the most part, though they spit and swear like there's no tomorrow. There's often nothing for them to do aboard the ship, so I've befriended a few. They've given me the grand tour of the vessel a hundred times over, and taught me a few card games - I won't gamble of course, I know better than that, but the ones I've fallen in with are a good sort for the most part, so it doesn't matter. There are others who aren't, and the stories they tell and the songs they sing are... discomforting to say the least. I do my best to avoid them and not fall to listening (usually). _

_One of the sailors, a boy named Franklin who can't be more than fourteen, has been quite like a brother to me on this journey. It's his first expedition, and I can't believe that his mother would let him go so young, but his family needs money and one less mouth to feed. He's lonely, I know, and the runt of the litter so to speak, though he smokes and curses just like the men. I tried to cure him of it but he just said that he doesn't mind using bad words around me, because I'm jolly and hardly seem like a woman to him. So much for Aunt March's designs! It does worry me a little though. I don't want to be an embarrassment and bring ruin to my family as Aunt March is convinced I will if I don't change my ways, and quickly. If I'm to be honest, dear little Franklin's comment worries me more than I'd like to own. I'm afraid I haven't been trying hard enough on this journey, for I've been caught up in the newness and adventure of it all. I know I've not done anything truly bad, but I also know that I haven't been good enough, either. We'll see what happens when we dock. At least I can count on you to stand by me even if others mistake me for a lad in lady's clothing and Aunt March dies of the scandal. _

_Yours (in confidence, I hope),_

_Jo_

…_._

_Dear Teddy,_

_I regret not writing sooner. Hopefully the notes I've sent to Marmee and Beth since then have assured you that I wasn't gobbled up by a sea monster. _

_We first arrived at the Irish coast about two weeks ago. It wasn't anything like I thought it would be! The sunrise was glorious to be sure, and the green fields and hills as lovely to behold as I could have asked for, but it all wasn't so very different than the kind of thing you'd come across at any shore back home. In my mind I'd built up Europe as a continent as different from Concord as if it'd been on the surface of the moon, so it was something of a shock to find myself still firmly grounded on the Earth. In truth I don't know what I was expecting. Purple trees? Grass growing out of the sky? My imagination isn't usually so vague on the details. I suppose that all I was really thinking of in my girlhood dreams of Europe were the joy of being here. _

_And it has been a joy and something of a dream being here most of the time. We didn't stop long in Ireland, which was alright by me, for I've never seen a more tranquil place. I quite liked the accent of the people there. I've been practicing it whenever I get a moment to myself. I figure we could use it one of our theatricals, if we're not too old to be having them anymore, that is. _

_Franklin ran up to say goodbye to me just as we were departing, and Aunt March was horrified and nothing I said could explain things to her. She has her own ideas about who I should and shouldn't be associating with. It's a great comfort to know that I haven't befriended anybody of whom Marmee would disapprove. I'm sure that poor Franklin felt the way she was staring at him. If getting into society means looking down upon others, I want no part of it. _

_We took the train from Queenstown to Liverpool. Aunt enjoyed the ride, and I liked looking out the windows and watching the scenery wiz past at breakneck speed. I'm afraid that I didn't try very hard to be agreeable, still being angry about the situation with Franklin. If there was a little thunder cloud over my head, at least nobody seemed to notice, for Uncle was reading out loud to us from one of his guidebooks, and it was so interesting that it soon drew even my cantankerous self in. _

_We arrived before I was tired of the journey, for which I am thankful. Such a city was Liverpool! Rather dusty, but full of hustle and bustle and life. It was like what I imagine New York would be. How strange that I've been to Liverpool and London (I'll write about that soon) but not to New York, what with New York being so close comparatively. _

_Uncle bought some skin gloves at the shops in Liverpool – nice and serviceable if you ask me, though Flo blushed at the purchase. I got some gloves too… white lace ones gifted to me by aunt, very fine and no more substantial than spider-webs. Whenever they're on I feel like I ought to jam my hands into my pockets to keep them from getting ripped or dirty, but that isn't the thing at all as I'm learning. It's not that I'm terribly attached to the gloves, but I know the others shall notice if anything goes wrong with them. Besides, I have this idea that if I can keep them nice the entire journey I'll be able to gift them to Meg and she'll find them delightful and be happy. Things are a lot cheaper here than in Concord and I almost bought a pair of gloves for her anyway. Aunt March approved of this plan, which was a nice change from the usual state of things, but she said I'd better wait 'till Paris and get Meg a truly elegant pair. In this matter I'll placidly take her advice. She knows much better than I. _

_From there we took a carriage to London. I never spent much time with cousin Flo as a child – she's more Amy's age and a better match for her in temperament besides. For a time I felt she was too stiff for me to get on with, but she was so excited in the carriage that I couldn't help warming to her. She exclaimed with real delight over a herd of lambs which turned out to be geese and a pretty little cottage which turned out to be a brewery. I'd better watch out for her, I think. She's very innocent and liable to get into trouble._

_London started out as a shopping expedition. Aunt March insisted that I needed new clothes. You wouldn't recognize me if you saw me now. It's hard to be happy about shoes that hurt and dresses clearly made for sitting about all day, but I'm trying. I've been to no less than three balls, one with a duke in attendance (His Excellence took no notice of me, and I hadn't any idea who he was until Flo pointed him out.). Aunt tries to be kind and point out the little improvements she's seen in me. At the three balls, for example, I stayed against the wall and said not a word. She wishes I would seem more joyful and less stiff, but at least I'm not speaking to people in my usual way. All things considered, the silence is a desirable change. I wish Meg were here to tell me how to behave at these functions. I'm sure her advice would be sensible and she knows me too well to give any that I couldn't follow. _

_Missing you dearly,_

_Jo _

…_._

_Dear Teddy,_

_Many thanks for the newspaper clippings. As for the picture you drew… well, it was an interesting rendition of how I might look in silk and spider-web gloves, but you might consider asking Amy for advice if you mean to take up art. I'm glad to hear you're doing well in school, and regret that I won't be able to go to your graduation. I didn't think about what I'd be missing at home when I undertook this trip. I'm getting used to the traveling life and it has the odd effect of making it seem like I'm not as far away from home as I really am. When I'm doing unusual and exciting things I feel it, but at times like now when I'm drinking tea and writing next to the oil lamp I don't think I'd be half surprised if you came rushing into my room at this very moment. I wish so much that you would that I think I'll just go on imagining to myself that it is possible. _

_Let's see… I've been to the Westminster Abbey and the Kensington Museum. The first was stunning beyond words, so I'll just say that it made me miss Amy more than ever, for I'm sure she would have appreciated it even more than I did. Wouldn't it have been a great thing if Aunt had been able to bring both of us along? Don't look at the paper so incredulously, Teddy. I miss the dear girl more than I can tell. The Kensington was another place that may have been made with Amy's pleasure explicitly in mind. She's convinced that I have no appreciation for art, but I do in my own way. I came out with a head full of story ideas inspired by the pictures that I saw, and I mean to write them. _

_Even so I was more interested in some of the relics I saw. Napoleon's very own war helmet! Can you imagine Teddy? It was only inches from my nose. I could have spent the day staring at it. His carriage was there as well, and Mary Antoinette's tiny shoe. It was like stepping into a history book. If only those relics could speak and recount for me all of the things they have seen!_

_There goes Aunt March rapping on the wall and calling out for "Josephine" to stop her scribbling. She claims that she can hear it away in the next room. Never mind that she's half deaf, she hasn't been wrong about my writing yet. She's calling again. Goodbye and goodnight!_

_Your friend,_

_Jo_

…_._

_Dear Laurie,_

_Aunt March and Flo are furious with me, and I'll have you know that it's your fault. That Fred Vaughn that you sent to meet us attached himself to Flo with a tenacity that I just couldn't believe was right or proper, so I sent him on his way. What a blunder that was, but I don't feel sorry for it, not in the least. Why do men think money gives them the right to flirt at whim with any girl they meet? _

_It may have been alright, but he enlisted a gang of his friends to stand outside our rooms and serenade us one evening, and I knew that I had to put an end to it. _

_I suppose I'll forgive you and hope the others do the same for me. Aunt hadn't meant to stay so long in London, but she's hired me a dance tutor and another for French. I'm not much of a student, so we're bound to be here for a good long while. _

_Je ne comprends pas le français. Les leçons françaises ennuyeux._

_Yours truly (in spite of your meddling),_

_Jo_

…_._

_All hail the conquering graduate! Marmee wrote me and told me how well you spoke at the ceremony, since you were too modest to say so yourself. I truly am proud of you my boy. I hope that you never forget that. _

_We move on to Germany in three days. I'll write once there to give you my address. I'm sure all of those French lessons will come in handy! _

_You have to understand that I have no real objection to learning language, in theory. I'd love to be able to speak easily to the natives wherever my journey's take me. I don't like wiling away my time on things that make me feel stupid, though, and nothing does that quite like French does. It'd be easy if they stopped adding letters to words then not even bothering to pronounce them. _

_One thing I want to ask you very seriously… How is Beth? There wasn't any letter from her in the last packet from home. Marmee said she was feeling poorly, but it was nothing to worry about. If I was there I'm sure I could look at her in an instant and know whether or not to be concerned. As things are, I need to you be my eyes. I don't believe that anyone could love Beth as I do, even Marmee, but I hope that you can please try since I'm away. _

_Your Jo _


	2. Chapter 2

"I think that's everything," Beth said, surveying the packing job that she and Laurie had just finished. Laurie watched her as she flitted about the room, looking for any bits that she or he may have forgotten. She'd hardly said a word as she'd helped him to fit everything from socks to suits to works of Dickens into his valise, but she'd been very pleasant and efficient throughout, something for which Laurie was thankful.

"Dear old room," Laurie said, unable to keep the satisfaction from his voice. "I don't suppose I'll ever sleep in here again."

"Will you live abroad forever?" Beth asked, with a touching note of dismay. She sat down upon his bed, and Laurie could not help but notice what a pale, wan little figure she made. He touched her hand lightly, but did not answer, for all of his plans, such as they were, hinged on the question that he needed to ask Jo.

"Would you mind terribly if I did?" He said, with a grin that had been more mischievous only a few months ago. "One less 'terrible boy' to plague you."

"You don't plague me," was Beth's simple answer.

"I plague your sister then. I plague her half to death, in fact," said Laurie. Beth's forehead wrinkled as if she were thinking.

"I suppose you plague Meg a little, when you give her new things for her kitchen. They always make such trouble."

"Or when I give Daisy and Demi too many sweets and spoil their supper," Laurie replied agreeably, though he'd been thinking of another sister entirely.

They sat for a time in silence. Laurie knew that he ought to send Beth on her way now that she'd given half her day to helping him, but he was reluctant to do so. He'd be an ocean away soon enough.

"You will make Jo say yes, won't you?" Beth asked, surprising Laurie. He hadn't even told her that he meant to propose.

"Make her say yes to what?" Laurie asked, trying to sound innocent, and regretting it for the way that it made Beth blush. It was rare for her to question him so directly, and he'd forgotten for a moment how much that little burst of boldness must have cost her.

"N-nothing…" Beth stammered, smoothing her apron nervously.

"Never mind, Beth, you're right, only I hadn't taken you for a mind reader or a prophetess. You really think it'll be a matter of making her?"

"I don't know. Making wasn't really the right word. You can't make Jo do something. I only hope that both of you can come home before…"

"Before what?" Laurie asked, for something in Beth's manner made him feel a nervousness deep within.

"Christmas," Beth said tightly. "Only if you've finished your traveling, of course, and done everything that you want to over there. Maybe you shouldn't try to come home after all. It _would_ be rather grand to spend the holidays abroad."

Laurie nodded, but a cloud had passed over Beth's face that did not seem quick to fade.

"Here now, Beth. I know Jo asked you to look after me in her letters, and me to look after you. You've been doing a regularly splendid job, and I'm sure I've been of no use to you whatsoever, but I mean to start. I promise to bring Jo back to you before the holidays, see if I don't. You might even get a new brother in the bargain."

Beth smiled a bit.

"If you have happy news, please don't forget to write to me the minute you receive it. Even a few words will do."

"I'll write to you first of all, on my word. Until then, I'll send you sheet music and nice things from Europe. Won't you like that? Maybe Jo and I can send for you in a bit. I'd love for you to see the concert halls in Vienna. You'd think you were in heaven."

"I can't imagine it," Beth said.

"Then let me tell you…"

Hours passed in descriptions of composers, stages, and grand pianos. Beth did not add much, but listened with real appreciation and just enough wistfulness to make Laurie want to cure her of it.

Beth sat very still as Laurie talked, with her hands lay flat upon her knees and her face turned up towards him to catch each word. Eventually the sun began to set outside, and the light in the room began to grow dimmer so gradually that Laurie did not quite notice it until they were both cast in shadows.

Beth looked even paler in the scant light, and the circles under her eyes seemed deeper. The way she sat, so very still, made Laurie think of a statue of a girl or of the sorts of marble angels set out to adorn the graves of lost children. The thought sent a shiver through him, which he tried to cover up by standing up to light one of the many oil lamps in his usually bright room.

"Are you feeling alright Beth?" He asked when he resumed his seat beside her. "I'm a brute for keeping you working all day like this."

"Oh no, you aren't at all," she said. "We're all going to miss you so dearly when you're gone and want very much to spend time with you before you sail away."

Laurie nodded and smiled. He took Beth's hands gently in his own, swallowing a lump in his throat at how thin they were. He tried to tell himself that he was being silly. Beth had been little more than a slip of a thing for years, but she'd always found a way to go on, always been far more resilient than she appeared.

A moment passed, and then Beth stood up abruptly as if she were flustered.

"Hannah will be done with dinner by now," she said. "Marmee will need me to help set the table."

Laurie rose as well, picking up Beth basket. It had been empty when she came in the morning but now it was heavy, filled with the more absurd relics of Laurie's escapades into college fashion. Beth had promised to bring them to people who were deeply in need of clothes and wouldn't know enough about current trends to be displeased.

"Here," said Laurie. "I'll take this for you."

The two set off together towards the March family home. It was a peaceful night, neither hot nor cold, and Laurie could hear the crickets chirping in the garden. This would be his last night in Concord for a long time to come, he knew.

They arrived at their destination, and Laurie put down the basket so that he could open the door for Beth.

"You are well Beth, aren't you?" He asked suddenly, before she could dart into the warm confines of her home. "Truly?"

Beth looked down and bit her lip.

"I think I am," she said softly. "I try to be."

On impulse Laurie leaned over and kissed her cool little cheek.

"Do you promise to try very hard on that front?" He asked.

Beth nodded, a bit of color coming to her face.

"Good. Jo will have my neck if you don't look after yourself," he said.

Beth laughed, "Jo will find some excuse to have your neck no matter what I do. Goodnight Laurie."

With that she disappeared inside and shut the door.

The March window was bright when Laurie passed it. He remembered how he had spent hours on end looking at it through his own bedroom window as a boy, and yearning to be part of the sweet family scene within. He felt a bit of that old loneliness now, without knowing why he should. He went to Jo, and if her letters were anything to go by, she would surely welcome him. They would be wed and have their own little house with a hearth and children to warm it.

He smiled to himself as he walked back to his Grandfather's mansion, content in the company of his dreams.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dear Teddy,_

_It's been some time since you last replied to one of my letters. I was most relieved to hear from you that Beth was doing well, and I'd be even more relieved to hear something of yourself. Has your Grandfather made you start your work in his offices so soon, and so completely filled your days with it that you haven't a word to write? At any rate, I wouldn't mind so terribly as I'm getting on well here in Heidelberg and haven't a moment to be bored or lonely, only this isn't like you. _

_I have been my Aunt's project ten times over since arriving here, for she means to prepare me especially for French society. I fear that I never shall understand America's mania with France. The dresses, the perfumes, the operettas, and the novels are at once desired as marks of wealth and class and absolutely reviled for their corruptness. I have fear that after all of this preparation for Paris that Aunt March will then absolutely disown me if I find myself liking any of it. I do plan to like it, though not in the way that she wishes (or fears. As I've said, I don't know.). I feel like each new scene I see improves my writing. _

Here Jo stopped to rumple her hair, before blotting out the last line with a little scowl. After a moment, however, she wrote it out again as though in defiance of her inner uncertainty. She'd sold four stories in London, and made a tidy sum for it. Even if she hadn't been willing to attach her name to the pieces, the very fact that she'd made a profit – and a substantial one at that!—was an improvement over past circumstances if not on the themes or style of her earlier works. She could send the money home for Beth and –

There was a knock on the door connecting her room with her aunt's.

"Drat," she muttered to herself, gathering up her unfinished letter and hurriedly tucking it and an equally unfinished story into the little trunk which contained her few possessions. She reached to the side of her desk and started to shove her gloves on over her fingers, knowing that Aunt March would want to see her hands properly covered when she entered, and not wanting to waste time on a lecture that could used doing something fun or interesting. In her haste to put them on the thing she had been dreading yet secretly knowing was bound to happen one day did – she knocked over her inkstand, thus putting an end to one of the wretched gloves once and for all.

She thought she was finished when the door creaked open at that very moment, but the tall figure that walked into the room was most certainly not that of her Aunt March.

"Teddy!" She exclaimed, bounding over to the doorway to throw her arms around him, too happy in her surprise to question it for a moment.

"Are you glad to see me Jo?" He asked, his breath warm near her ear. She couldn't see his smile with her chin rested as it was up near his shoulder but she could hear it in his voice and feel it in the way that he hugged her tightly before letting go to take her hands.

"So much so that I scarce believe I'm not dreaming," Jo said, "But look, you made me spill ink on my gloves and your fingers are all stained now, and oh dear the back of you suit too and…"

She tried to pull her hands away he didn't let her, instead bending down to kiss her fingers, effectively transferring a hint of the black stain to his lips as well (and the side of his cheek when she swatted his hand away!). Jo stiffened at once with a hint of a blush and a swift reminder of the unpleasant nervous feeling she'd been having around her boy just before Europe and the ocean between them had washed away all but her fondest memories.

"None of that now," she said sternly, and just in time, for Aunt March stood in the doorway watching them. The old lady cleared her throat, and Jo straightened.

"Aunt, you remember Laurie," Jo said. She started to put her hands behind her back, but thankfully remembered just in time that the only thing she would accomplish by doing so would be a black mark on the back of her dress.

"Hmph. I should think so. I just let him in," Aunt March said, and then glared down at her hands. "Josephine!"

"Yes, I know," Jo said, peeling off her gloves and gritting her teeth in an effort to keep her voice even. "I'm a foolish blunderbuss and shouldn't be given nice things. Don't buy me another pair and we'll call my bare hands chastisement enough, shall we?"

Jo glanced up at Aunt March, trying her very best to project with her eyes a plea that the old woman put off lecturing her like a naughty child until some better point in time when Laurie wasn't there to watch.

"You may think it is well enough here, but I'd just as soon have you run around Paris naked as gloveless," was Aunt March's insufferable reply.

"Let me go to wash my hands or I'll get this stuff on my dress too, and you might have to," Jo said, and departed quickly, rather than patiently enduring the scolding that she knew might well go on for hours and cover her every feminine failure since birth.

Aunt March had chosen the most fashionable hotel that their money would allow, and the washroom, though small, had a silver basin and soaps that smelled of rose petals. The maids brought in warm water each morning, but it was cool by now, and the ink on Jo's hands turned it cloudy.

She took a deep breath. It was a constant struggle not to get angry with Aunt March, but so far she'd been winning. She counted slowly to ten, reminding herself that of how very feeble her torturer really was, of how she needed a cane now and was plagued by all of the aches and pains that cursed the old. Besides, Aunt March meant well, really she did. And Laurie might tease, but wasn't it worth it to know that he was waiting for her just one room away? Laurie was there! Laurie, and the promise of fun times with him. This thought was enough to make Jo feel composed much sooner than she usually would have.

By the time that Jo returned to her rooms Laurie was busy trying to engage her Aunt March in amiable conversation with as much success as was to be expected. He clapped her back, which produced a deeper glower from the already glowering old woman.

"Come on Jo," Laurie said. "I've just told this good woman how I came in and destroyed those lovely gloves of yours. Now let's go into the town to get you some new ones before too many people see you without."

Laurie winked at her in his old boyish way, and Jo had to make an effort to act grim. She had learned from much experience over the last month or two that the best way to trick Aunt March into allowing her to do fun and interesting things was to act as though those things were in fact a solemn duty.

"Yes, I suppose that we must," Jo said, doing her very best to sound as though going out into town with Laurie was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. " I'm ever so _very_ fatigued, but there's no sorrier sight in all the world than a gloveless woman."

Aunt March raised her eyebrows at that, making Jo think for a minute she'd hit the wrong note with her acting. Finally, however, the old woman nodded her assent and she was free to enjoy a day out in Heidelberg with her dearest friend.

…_._

Laurie could hardly imagine anybody being happier than he was at that moment, walking with Jo along the cobbled streets of downtown Heidelberg. He'd felt strange when he'd finally landed on European soil after a month at sea. As a child he'd traveled so extensively that the entire continent held a sort of familiarity for him, or at least he fancied that it did. Even in places that he was passing through for the first time he'd noticed traces of things which had been a part of his past – architecture, bits of music, even silly little things like the way women would lace flowers through the buttonholes of the young men they admired. Though he'd been in a hurry to reach Jo, he'd stopped here and there to eat a meal at a Café that his parents had once brought him to, or to gaze at a tree in a park that he'd often passed when he'd gone for the morning walk with the other boys at school. Europe was filled to the brim with things from his past, from before illness had taken mother and father from him suddenly and he'd been whisked off across the ocean to live with a grandfather whom he'd barely known. It felt correct to him, in a poetic sense, to reenter this scene from his old life with the best and brightest thing that his first journey across the Atlantic had brought about walking at his side.

Heidelberg was not by any means a new city for Laurie. Many of the little shops had changed in the ten or so years since he went away, but he still knew where to go for storefronts adorned with gloves and ribbons and lady's dresses, and a horizon adorned with the ruin of the old Heidelberg castle.

"You gave me the shock of my life showing up in my room like that," Jo was saying.

Laurie laughed. "That was rather the plan," he said. "Though I didn't mean to cause such ruin to your person."

Jo grinned and flexed her now bare hands. "I'd call it an improvement, but I know Aunt wouldn't," she said. "I'm pretty good at getting out of her clutches now and then. Would go mad otherwise."

"I can see she's made her mark on you," Laurie said. Jo had been walking slightly ahead of him, but he caught her shirt sleeve now. "I've never thought you one for lilac silk."

Jo groaned.

Laurie grinned, pretending to examine the material, when really he was just looking at Jo for the joy of doing so. It wasn't that the dress did her any favors; He'd thought once that he'd shower her with rich clothes once they were wed but now he saw how strangely the glistening material hung on her thin frame and contrasted with her plain face. Even so, it was wonderful to look at her and see that she was unchanged beneath the unwanted ruffles.

"You mustn't stare at me like that Teddy," Jo said. "I know that I look ridiculous. I have had nightmares where I'm being chased across the continent by gloves and reams of silk."

"Poor Jo, a slave to fashion," Laurie said with a chuckle.

"You laugh, but I know that you're one, and willingly as well! At least you've let your hair grow. I suppose that means college lads have stopped hacking it off in that horrible way."

"Oh really? Now personally, I'd suppose it to mean that I care more to be admired by certain other people than college lads… or else that I've already graduated. You yourself wrote me a note of congratulations, or have you forgotten?"

"No, not at all, three cheers for Teddy!" Jo said, throwing up her arms in the old way. Laurie loved to see her smile like that, and loved even more knowing that that smile was for him. He wanted to very much just then to kiss her and reached out impulsively to do so, but something about her expression stopped him and he settled instead for lifting her off her feet in a quick spin that made her shriek.

"Are you mad?" She asked, laughingly, after he put her down.

"Terribly. Study and long months of travel will do that to a man. Better watch out for me carefully. No telling what notions I'll come up with next."

They'd arrived by now at the storefront of a large glove shop, and Laurie took Jo's arm to lead her from inside.

"Seems all of your 'notions' involve manhandling me…"

"We can start with business and then move on to pleasure," Laurie announced, for Jo looked a bit dismayed to once again be surrounded by lace and ribbons. "Is this what your nightmares look like, dear?"

"No, if this was one of my nightmares they would all have teeth and be flying at me like hornets. Let's get this over with."

Jo turned from him to examine the rows of merchandise, presumably looking for a pair that was ordinary enough for her to live with.

"Here, I've got just the thing," Laurie said, pointing behind a glad to a bit white silk trimmed in diamonds and too dainty to fit the hands of any mortal woman. He nodded enthusiastically, as if he had not just been searching for something expensive and gaudy to make Jo laugh.

Jo snorted, "Those can be your pair." She held up the cheapest white cotton gloves that she had managed to find. "I'll take these."

Laurie moved to take them from her, but Jo turned away.

"No, I have money," She said, smiling as if quite proud of the fact. "I wrote some stories in London. I don't like depending on Aunt March. Better to depend on my pen, don't you think?"

Jo did not wait for him to answer, but ran up to the counter to make her purchase.

"That's excellent Jo!" Laurie said once they were outside. "I should have known that the first thing you'd do abroad is become a celebrated American authoress."

"Hardly. I won't even show you what I've written. I'm ashamed of it," Jo said. Her expression was a strange mix of a proud smile and a certain anxiousness that made Laurie feel that she was telling him a difficult truth and lying to him all at once.

"If it's published I might well find it," Laurie pointed out.

"You won't. Name's not on them."

This time the anxiousness won out, and Laurie knew Jo well enough to be quite sure that he was the first person to whom she had mentioned these stories, and possibly the only one to whom they ever would be mentioned.

"Do you mean to say I won't see your volumes placed on the shelf between Dickens and Thackeray?" Laurie asked, hoping to tease more information out of her, for he could already see that she was on the verge of becoming brisk and closed off if he asked her anything too directly.

"Even my best work wouldn't be there, you know that Teddy."

"You think? That's exactly where I would put it. I suppose you've gone and written something gruesome then, more in the way of the Bront_ë_s or Mary Shelley."

"Do you know that Aunt March told me that all of the worst and most torrid things are written by women authors? She won't touch anything written by female hands herself."

"How does she endure your scribbling?"

"She thinks all I write these days is letters… in her estimation a very pretty and feminine pursuit, thank goodness , though she's convinced I take it too far. If some women writers do lash out and write bad things it's no wonder with the Aunt Marches of the world keeping tabs on us and trying to make sure we never do anything in our real life that isn't perfectly sweet and dainty." Jo ended this speech with a sarcastic curtsey which Laurie quite enjoyed.

"Who is the hero of your story then? Is he a Heathcliff, a Rochester, or Frankenstein's own monster?"

"I wouldn't say that there _was_ a hero," Jo whispered, much to Laurie's joy, for he knew the moment her voice dropped that he'd won her confidence. "Remember how I wrote you about the sailors' stories on the boat? Well, I've written things for a… a certain publication, and they were at least somewhat inspired by those."

Laurie did his very best to look serious, though there was something funny – funny, yet terribly exciting – about the idea of Jo as a writer of ribald tales. She was blushing as well, something that made him very much want to read her stories.

"Well then Jo," he said, linking arms with her as he walked, "They're only words, aren't they? Perfectly harmless."

"I try to think so. The money was good, and I plan to use it only for good purposes."

"There you are then," Laurie said.

"I wrote it differently from how they told it. Not bad, just very silly, with maybe hints of a few bad things… and the worst people in the story were always punished, most of the time. I do feel like maybe I know too much since that boat journey, though I never tried to listen… I…" Another flush from Jo. She'd spoken very quickly as if carried away by her words now that she finally found somebody she could trust enough to say them to.

"Go on then," Laurie said gently, keeping his eyes averted from hers so she wouldn't see the twinkle in them.

"It's nothing. You don't think anybody would read it who didn't know what they were getting into, do you?"

"I doubt it," said Laurie, resolving to do everything in his power to find the stories himself at some point.

"Good," Jo said, in a tone that signaled the end of that conversation. "Shall we go home then? Aunt will want you to dinner I'm sure. Would you like me to drill you on how to be bland, boring, and civil? I've had heaps of lessons in it lately."


	4. Chapter 4

Aunt March wanted Jo for the next week. It seemed that Laurie's arrival had motivated her tenfold to make haste towards Paris, only she was too sickly to manage it right away, and so she only talked about it constantly and worked hard to groom Jo for it.

Corsets, stiff clothing, and uncomfortable shoes had been the norm since Jo had gotten off the ship. Suddenly Aunt March wanted to besiege her with shoes that pinched so much as to make Jo feel firmly hobbled, and a corset laced so tight as to make it difficult to breathe.

In Britain Jo had been introduced to the curious spectacle of bearing reigns on carriage horses. These devices pulled up the horses' heads so that they had a constantly proud countenance that looked very pretty but that Jo hadn't been able to think of as anything but cruel, for it left the poor beasts unable to move their heads.

"It's not so bad as you think," Flo had explained when Jo had mentioned it to her. "The handlers don't pull up their heads tightly all at once, but do it a little each day by degrees, until they're used to it and perfectly comfortable."

Jo was beginning to wonder if her Aunt March had spoken much to horse handlers, and was trying to break her in just as they did their steeds, for fashionable torture devices were being added one by one, little by little. Alas, Jo did not think she could tolerate it placidly as the horses did.

The first time that Laurie suggested a tramp up to the Heidelberg castle Jo was thrilled. She'd not had a chance to go yet, for the castle was on a hill; Aunt March had been taking her all over the city, but not to that interesting place, being too frail to climb and perfectly satisfied with seeing it from afar anyway. To Jo's great delight Aunt March conceded to give her the day off from her companion work, and Jo rose early, donning one of her old dresses from Concord for the occasion.

Aunt March had seen her trying to slip out and quite nearly had a conniption at what she was wearing. A long fight in which Jo tried to make Aunt March understand why her fashion sensibilities were not suitable for exploring ruins ended in Jo winning in the sense that Aunt March conceded to her point of view, and losing in the sense that she was not permitted out to the castle at all.

"I do try to be kind to you Josephine, but you make it very difficult," Aunt March had said indignantly. "We'll have that boy over to tea this afternoon. That's an excellent compromise, and you'd do well to learn from my example."

Laurie exerted himself a great deal at tea in terms of making himself pleasant to Aunt March. Jo could hardly believe that the man in front of her was her childhood playmate – he seemed so worldly and sedate.

Perhaps he would have to be like this all the time one day, Jo thought, for he was a grown-up now with his Grandfather's business waiting for him to lead. She didn't much like the idea, for she was very fond of the boy Laurie.

Laurie spent a great deal of time talking about the lovely gardens near the castle and managed to convince Aunt March to let Jo come with him to see them the next day. There was a boyish glint in his eyes when Aunt March agreed.

The next morning Jo decided to take a leaf out of Aunt March's own book and compromise. She dutifully put on her corset and laced it up firmly but not too tightly, before pulling a dress that Aunt March had chosen for her over it. She chose a pair of shoes that she hoped would be uncomfortable enough to please Aunt March, though she bypassed the pair that was actually painful. She even bothered to find a coordinating hair ribbon, hoping that would be enough to distract her Aunt from any other problems her appearances might present.

"Come here Josephine, and show me what you're wearing," Aunt March said, as soon as Jo crept out of her room.

"Nothing you haven't bought me," Jo said, with a stiff nod, hoping that she could just get out the door.

Aunt March nodded with what was almost approval.

"You just need some finishing touches," she said. With that Jo was sent back to her dressing room, where the shoes were exchanged and the corset tightened.

Jo held her tongue, but shot her aunt the dirtiest look that she could. The old bat deserved to know she was displeased, with all that she'd put her through.

"Oh really Josephine, one would think that you care more for climbing some silly mountain than you do for finding a good husband."

"Then one would be entirely right," Jo shot back. "Besides, there hasn't been any royalty living in that castle for a good centaury now, so you needn't worry yourself about some ridiculous prince that I'm failing to impress."

At that moment Laurie knocked on the door and Jo ran up to meet him, slamming it behind him before he could so much as greet Aunt March.

"Being chased by bears Jo?" He asked, as she pulled them along at a pace that was quite painful considering what she was wearing on her feet.

"No, just one crotchety old aunt who won't let me be."

"What's she done now?"

Jo stopped, and pointed down at her feet, "I defy anyone to walk more than five inches in these."

"You've just managed to pretty well."

"At a cost. They hurt like the dickens, Teddy."

"They do look pretty small," Laurie admitted.

Jo just nodded, making a concentrated effort to keep moving forwards at a reasonable pace without limping. She'd been doing it for the last several days, after all, though she hadn't gone too far from the hotel rooms.

"You could borrow a pair of mine? Here, stop for a minute." He lined his feet up besides hers so he could compare sizes, frowning when he saw just how significant the difference was. "Um… you could wear heavy socks with them. Lots of them."

Jo laughed at the idea, and then groaned. "I may have to. The skirt is long enough I think… yes, I think it shan't be so noticeable, and I'm willing to try anything."

"We'll try it then," Laurie said. "It's a short walk to my rooms, and it will save you a world of pain."

"Do I think it will be all right for me to go in there?" Jo asked, for she knew it was hardly proper.

"Why not? You were in my room hundreds of times back in Concord, and we'll make sure no one sees us."

They made there way carefully to Laurie's hotel, up the staircase, and finally dashed to his room once they reached the hallway, just managing not to be seen. Jo was gritting her teeth with pain by the time she got in and found it necessary to let Laurie support her as she hobbled off to find somewhere to sit.

"Does any lady you've met really wear shoes like these, or is all of this just a delusion of Aunt March's?" Jo asked, as Laurie went into his drawers to find enough socks for her.

"Quite a few do, actually. It's not at all uncommon."

"Poor things, what do they do all day?"

"Paint, read, play piano, learn French…"

"Things that don't require much movement. I'd go mad."

"You'd still have your writing to console you," Laurie pointed out.

"And a husband, according to my aunt."

"Not that you'd marry anybody who forced you into uncomfortable shoes. I know I wouldn't want you to go and do such a thing."

Laurie sat next to Jo – very closely she noticed – and waited while she pulled sock after sock onto her aching feet.

"I'm not likely to go and marry anyone, if only for the joy of disappointing Aunt March," Jo pulled on one of the shoes Laurie had given her. "At first I worried that she was right about some things… I know I'm too old to behave the way that I do sometimes, and that I've embarrassed poor Amy more than once. I wouldn't want Amy or Beth to be prevented from somebody eventually loving them, just because I make a bad name for myself. Aunt March is more likely to make a ruin of me than improve me though, and I don't mean to take another word of her advice."

"That's fair enough," said Laurie. "I know you won't marry to please anybody but yourself, but I hope you won't refuse to marry just for the sake of someone else's displeasure either."

"It hardly matters at the moment, since it's all hypothetical anyway," Jo pointed out. She looked down at her feet. Laurie's shoes looked huge and clunky under her dress, but they were more comfortable at least. "Ah, these shoes are very obvious, aren't they? We'll just have to hope that nobody looks down at my feet."

"On the bright side, maybe word will get back to your aunt, and she'll be scandalized for life. I don't think the family back in Concord would care so much, so you're safe there."

"That is an exciting idea," She kicked the shoes she had previously been wearing. "Ought to take these with and throw them in the river."

"Or bring them up to the castle. Offer them up to the ghosts of dead royalty."

Jo smacked Laurie's arm at this. "Don't be a fool. There aren't any such thing. Let's go before the day gets too late."

…

They did reach the castle later than planned, due to their stop at Laurie's rooms. Laurie thoroughly enjoyed the walk up, watching Jo as she clomped up the path looking much happier than she had when he'd first met her that morning. He told her about the boat ride over and she told him again about the museums and things that she'd seen.

"I almost feel bad for complaining so much about Aunt March's treatment, for my world has expanded since coming here," Jo said.

"Expanded and contracted at once. In Concord you may not have had any new sights to see, but you had a great deal more freedom to be yourself. Which do you prefer?"

"Concord," Jo admitted. "But I don't regret coming here. It won't last forever, and it's worth it to have seen the world."

"I should like to be able to go back to Concord and do just as I please, but I know that won't be the case. I have this holiday, then a lifetime of my Grandfather's offices."

Jo took his hand at that, for which Laurie was grateful.

"I know, but I mean to help you bear it just as you've helped me bear my captivity here," she said.

Laurie stopped, a feeling of warmth flooding him.

"Do you Jo, truly?" He asked. _Please say yes_, he prayed, hoping that if she did and in just the right tone he would not have to put off his question any longer.

Something in his expression made her remove her hand from his.

"Of course," she said, but it didn't sound right to Laurie at all. "When you're not at your work and I'm not at mine, we can talk as we always have, and have larks if nobody else catches us at it. It'll be just like it's always been between us."

Laurie tried to smile at her as they made their way up the rest of the hill. There would be time later to tell Jo that he wanted more from her than what there had always been.

…

Within the dank interior of the ruined castle, Jo felt at peace. She and Laurie were far from being the only people who had come exploring. The chatter of men and women and the occasional shout of children echoed through the stone halls. Still, Jo preferred to imagine vast halls as being forgotten, deserted and uninhabited for centuries on end.

"It must have been quite a fire to destroy the walls like this, look," Jo said, placing her hand on the rough, mossy expanse of stone.

Laurie placed his hand over hers, "Imagining fire and brimstone, Jo? You look so cheerful, that has to be it."

"I'm imagining a terrible war, and the King running about like a headless chicken while some lowly chambermaid remains levelheaded and guides everyone down the hill and through a secret path in the forest to safety."

"And does the king burn to death?"

"No, the chambermaid rescues him too. He offers her a title for it, but she doesn't want it for…"

"She's actually a run away Russian Princess in disguise," Laurie suggested.

"Oh? Is that it? Then tell me why she ran away."

"Because she hated her shoes," Laurie said.

"She has all of my sympathies in that case. Let's see… she hated her shoes, and some spies from France were trying to murder her. Anyway, she understood the problems that came with a title and wasn't about to reenter that world. Better to be a lowly maid."

Jo wandered off to the window to look at the view outside, knowing that Laurie would follow her.

The sun was already growing low in the horizon, something that surprised Jo. She hadn't noticed just how long they'd taken to climb up to this high vantage point. They hadn't even had lunch, and it would be well past supper by the time they got home! Not that she wanted to think about food; drinking in the scenery was more than enough for her.

"I wish we could stay here longer," Jo said as Laurie appeared beside her.

"We could always move in. Tourists walk in and out as it is. We'd go unnoticed for a time, and then become part of the attraction – a pair of eccentric Americans living in a ruined castle and catching spiders for our meals."

Jo made a face at that, but then she laughed. How different Europe had been before Teddy had appeared. She'd been as full as ever with wild dreams and fancies, but they hadn't been half so fun without anyone to share them with.

"I'm so glad you came," Jo said, resting her chin her hands as she looked out past the horizon.

She felt Laurie's hand on run through her hair, as lightly as the spiders they'd just been discussing. At least she thought so. It was an interesting feeling to say the least.

Jo had meant to push him away, but then she was struck with curiosity; What would Laurie do, exactly, if permitted to continue? Jo stood as still as a statue.

"It's good to hear you say that, Jo." Laurie said, in a surprisingly normal tone, as he leaned in close to her. Jo stared at him, and then he leaned in to kiss her.

It only lasted for a second, his lips warm and dry, pressed against hers as they stood in the ruined castle. Jo jerked away quickly, but Laurie himself was already backing off.

"I didn't mean for you to become sentimental," Jo said gruffly, brushing her hand across her lips.

"I don't suppose I meant to become sentimental. You're the one who started it," Laurie tried to joke, but Jo could tell that she had hurt him.

The walk down the mountain was much quieter than the walk up it.

…

Aunt March scowled at Jo when she came home at past eight o'clock in the evening, dusty, gloveless, and wearing Laurie's shoes. Jo had been expecting this, and so she sat down at the table to weather the storm.

Jo avoided listening to Aunt March's rant, her mind still somewhere among the ruins and the problem of Laurie's kiss, until the a mention of the very person she had been thinking of brought Jo out of her own thoughts.

"What did you just say about Laurie?" Jo asked.

"I said, Josephine March, that it is the responsibility of somebody in your family to marry well if only to put an end to the financial ruin your father brought upon you all. You can't mean to live and die a pauper. I can trust Amy to try but there's never a guarantee for such things. I fear, heaven forbid, that Beth may be useless in this respect. You have an excellent prospect in that young man and you are destroying it by gypsying around the city as you do."

Jo stared open mouth at Aunt March for a moment rage coloring her features. She thought she was bound to shout at her, but then quite suddenly she laughed, for it was all absurd.

"You can't think I've been trying to…" Jo started, quite at a loss, "to… to make Teddy propose to me. I wouldn't. I do love him very much as a friend, but it's never been anything other than that."

"If I were you I would try to change that. Friendship is the foundation for the best marriage. Even your dear deluded mother would agree with me on that count, I think. Besides, you're getting older each day. It's time you gave up that writing of yours and started a family like a sensible girl. That friend of yours has money enough to make a comfortable life for you and your children."

"As though I'd marry for money! No, I don't plan to marry Laurie, and that's final."

Jo stood up to leave the room, much ruffled by her Aunt's strange ideas.

"We'll see about that," Aunt March said confidently as Jo was heading towards the door. If any words could have more firmly set Jo's heart against marrying her boy, those were them.

Back at in her own room Jo scowled at herself in the mirror before pulling off the wretched dress she was wearing. The corset she struggled with, for the ribbons were tied too tight and her fingers couldn't quite manage the knots; they only opened up for her after several minutes of sustained effort, right around the time that she was considering getting some scissors and being done with it.

Now she sat upon the bed wearing only a chemise, a slip, and Laurie's shoes. She caught another glimpse of herself in the mirror, and thought she looked perfectly silly. She kicked the shoes off, and flopped back on the bed, much exhausted by all she'd done that day. The castle had been such fun. Why had Laurie had to ruin it by going and kissing her like that? Why had Aunt March chosen that moment to suggest she marry the boy?

Jo did not sleep well that night, for her mind was awash with thoughts and ideas. What would it be like to marry her Teddy? He'd need someone fashionable, Jo was sure, perhaps not as much so as her Aunt was grooming her to be, but fashionable none the less. Even if he thought that he didn't, his business associates would expect it of him. Teddy's wife would have a big house with servants who gossiped about her and kept everything rigidly perfect. Teddy's wife would be too busy with the management of a large estate to write or do anything much, and nobody would need what little income her words could bring in among such a sea of money.

Jo really couldn't see any benefits to being Teddy's wife except… well, except that Teddy's wife would have Teddy, in those rare moments behind closed doors when he could allow himself to be himself, and not the business man working always behind his desk.

No, Jo decided. It wasn't enough. It simply wasn't.

That night she didn't dream about silk or gloves; instead she dreamt about being kissed in a castle upon a hill. When she woke she told herself firmly that it had been a _nightmare_. A nightmare and nothing else.


End file.
